


I'll Believe In Anything

by GalurRithari



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Aranea is a lesbian, Autistic Prompto, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Big Sister Aranea Highwind, Combat Training, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Prompto Argentum is a Ray of Sunshine, Prompto Is a Bisexual Disaster, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, of course if anything changes I'll update the tags and warnings and such, probably more relationship tags to be added in the future, uhhhh idk what else to add somebody's gotta help me with that lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25373839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalurRithari/pseuds/GalurRithari
Summary: The time has come for Prompto Argentum to decide: Will he live the rest of his life as a quiet nobody, or join the Lucian Prince's Royal Crownsguard and make a name for himself?Or, Prompto is a well-meaning klutz who comes to realize that training involves more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Aranea Highwind, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 12
Kudos: 51





	1. One - His Choice

**Author's Note:**

> First, I wanna dedicate this fic to the following people who have been putting up with my nonsense ever since I sent them the first draft:  
> [bispecsual](https://twitter.com/bispecsual)  
> [MathClassWar](https://twitter.com/MathClassWar)  
> [et_versa](https://twitter.com/et_versa)  
> If it weren't for you guys, I probably would have abandoned ffxv altogether. Thank you for encouraging me to keep going, keep writing, learn to respect myself, and not take any shit. You rule. I cannot thank you enough.  
> (title is taken from the Wolf Parade song, _[I'll Believe In Anything](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7G1eLTV89dM&list=OLAK5uy_luLSBoFV6MHLoA-WL1QuOSCmWfK7QN5SY)_ )

So, that was how it started.  
  
Insomnia's most famous burger joint was packed with recently-graduated high school students, the elderly, and young children squeezing past crowds with open drinks in hand trying desperately (in vain) not to spill on each other. Ninety-degree heat always made the city go crazy, and the peak of summer vacation gave no exception. Everyone was in everyone's way, including the Crown Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum and his companions. They staggered through the crowd of customers on tip-toes, trays of food held high above their heads, laughing exasperatedly. Those who recognized His Highness paid him no attention, for their growling afternoon stomachs took precedence.  
  
The Prince's oldest companion waved them down the aisle towards an empty booth free of patrons, and they snatched it up without a second thought. The four friends slid into their seats and tore the wrappers off their sandwiches with gusto. Before long, their humble little corner echoed fully of loud slurping and chewing noises, uncaring of etiquette and basic sanitation.  
  
Prince Noctis's youngest friend, Prompto Argentum, belched loudly before throwing himself back in his seat, wiping the back of his hand across his damp forehead. If the restaurant turned on the AC, he certainly wasn't feeling it.  
  
"I dunno how you can wear that jacket in this heat, big guy," Prompto laughed, tugging at his tank top's neckline for relief.  
  
Gladio Amicitia smiled around his sandwich, smug in his black leather jacket that clung tight to his muscles, showing off his incredible physique. He tossed a strand of brown hair out of his eyes before speaking. "Lightweight."  
  
Prompto knew his friend was teasing but put on an offended face for show. "Not a lightweight!" he said, arms crossed in front of his chest. He huffed, puffing out his chest like a proud turkey, and elbowed the man next to him for support. "Tell 'im, Iggy!"  
  
Ignis Scientia rolled his eyes and busied himself with his salad. He poured some dressing, speaking half to Prompto and half to his plate when he said, "You do have a particular… sensitivity when it comes to the weather, Prompto."  
  
Prompto's mouth fell open, and he sputtered like a fish out of water. He slapped his hand over his heart, doing his best not to break character. "Well, I _never_!"  
  
Prince Noctis, having been silent for most of the exchange, burst out laughing. Fries fell out of his mouth, barbecue sauce and all, leaving brown stains on his tee-shirt. The action left Prompto feeling… warm. It wasn't a bad feeling, not in the slightest, but a feeling he'd tried to push down and keep to himself in the past. Nevertheless, it gave him the confidence boost he needed to carry on.  
  
"Anything to add, buddy?" Prompto asked. Noctis reached a hand up and pulled off his baseball cap, revealing matted black hair sticking out in odd directions as though he'd just rolled out of bed. He fanned himself briefly, sweat sheen glaring bright beneath the fluorescent lighting. Even the cartoon fish character on his cap appeared to be sweltering.  
  
"You're not wrong," Noctis mumbled. "Could do with a swimming pool right about now."  
  
Prompto sighed. "You ain't kidding. I'll take my burger poolside if it's okay with you guys." He dug his elbow into Ignis's ribs a second time, ignoring the irritated, but fond, scowl he got in return.  
  
"Try and ignore it for the time being," Ignis said. "We have some business to discuss and no more opportunities to shrug them off." He reached under the table and pulled out several laminated sheets of paper from his messenger bag. In the top right corner was a stamp depicting the Lucis-Caelum coat of arms. Prompto gulped. He knew what was coming.  
  
Ignis cleared his throat. "Your Crownsguard recruitment form, if you recall." He passed them to Prompto, face stern and uncompromising as he helped him clear his food tray to make room. "So far, all you've filled out are your name, date of birth, and contact number."  
  
Prompto's hands shook as he held the first page up to his eyes. Yup, it was his name, alright. His handwriting, too.  
  
"Recruitment windows are closing in two days, and you still have yet to give us a straight answer," Ignis said, eyes locked with Prompto's. He took a slow, clinical sip from his soda glass that would have been comical if Prompto wasn't currently cornered. "In fact, if I didn't know any better—"  
  
"Where did you get this?" Prompto interrupted, setting the papers down with more sharpness than he intended. He glared across the table at Noctis, finger accusing. His heart hammered against his ribs like a charging behemoth. "Noct, where did he get it?"  
  
Noctis bowed his head. He folded his hands over and over in his lap, eyes downcast. He yanked his cap off his head in a single aggressive motion and tossed it under the table. "I… I gave it to him. I was worried you were gonna say no, so I gave it to Specs."  
  
Prompto looked desperately in Gladio's direction for help, earning an indifferent shrug in response. "Word travels fast, kid."  
  
Prompto threw himself back in his seat. "I can't believe this… you're really gonna do this now?"  
  
"As I said, recruitment windows are closing—"  
  
"Yeah, Yeah, we heard you the first time, Iggy," Noctis shushed him, stretching obnoxiously across the table to wave a hand in front of his face. Ignis jumped, startled by the gesture, and glared daggers right back at him. The Prince's advisor was one mouth twitch away from pulling off a pout.  
  
"Y'know… if you're confused about something… or scared… you can ask us anything. Literally anything," Noct was sitting straighter now, shoulders squared, posture befitting a King-to-Be. Slow confidence filled his voice, and it began to infect his companions around him.  
  
All but Prompto. Desperate for something to do with his hands, he busied himself with a scab on his forearm, picking until a tiny bead of blood showed through the surface. It wasn't healing correctly. "I just… it's hard. I'm not. Soldier material. I don't think I am, anyway…"  
  
"Don't go getting cold feet until you hear us out, okay?" Noct brushed his knuckles companionably. He was smiling. "I mean. You can still say no if you want. It's your life, your decision. I… We'd just really like to have you along to Altissia, y' know? And if you become a Crownsguard, there'd be _no limit_ to how often we can hang out! You can even start going to royal meetings and _parties_ with me!" Noctis grew louder and more excited with each word, practically bouncing out of his seat like a toddler in an ice cream parlor. Prompto had to admit it was a good look on him.  
  
Something dragged its heels in the back of his mind, however. It reared its ugly head at the same time he summoned the vigor to speak up. "What about… what about college? Will I miss out on classes? I haven't gotten any responses yet, but. Can I still go?"  
  
The air around their booth grew even thicker and muggier than before. Noctis's excitement drained from his face as quickly as it appeared, and he sagged against his side of the booth, deflated. Ignis and Gladio were quiet as ever, though tension edged its way up their jawlines with every breath they took.  
  
"My old man told me there was no way an Amicitia wasn't going to serve the royal family," Gladio chimed in. Prompto watched how his eyes darkened under the fluorescent restaurant lighting – amber to dark brown and back again. "Said if I wanted to go to college, I'd better find a way to take Noct with me. Tradition wins out, Prompto." The Prince's shield pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and booted up Tetris, perhaps trying to distract his thoughts from what could have been. The exchange made Prompto's stomach feel sour, as though someone dropped a satchel of heavy stones in there among the fries and bits of a burger. Did Gladio want other things? Was he not allowed to want different things? Did he resent Noctis for keeping him away from a true passion? Will Prompto come to resent him too, if he says 'yes'?  
  
"It would be… difficult… to pursue higher education and swear yourself to the Crown simultaneously," Ignis said carefully, wary of his word choice. He kept his gaze trained on a lettuce scrap in the center of the table. "Most who join the guard find themselves choosing between one or the other. It's rare to meet another who carries both responsibilities with ease. I gave up the prospect of higher education when I was sworn in as Noct's chamberlain."  
  
"But you were just a kid, Iggy!" Prompto replied. "It's not like you were given a choice!"  
  
Ignis licked his lips. "Quite right. However, you'll notice that I only take on as many responsibilities as I am capable of handling. To effectively guide Noctis, to prepare him for his future reign as king, I need to have as few distractions as possible. That means sacrificing a great deal of energy on academic studies in a public setting. The skills I've acquired over the years of private tutoring have been more than enough to excel in my role."  
  
"But you're so smart, Iggy," Prompto argued. "You could do _anything_ you wanted."  
  
"Your flattery doesn't escape me, Prompto, but this conversation isn't about me." Ignis leaned into Prompto's personal space and straightened out his strewn forms. "As Noct has already told you, we're available to answer any questions you may have. You will _not_ be thrust into this alone. It would be rude of us to expect you to handle everything solo."  
  
While he wanted to feel comforted by that statement, Prompto couldn't shake the queasiness building in his gut that had nothing to do with fast food. Perhaps he hadn't been listening clearly, but it sounded like they had decided _for_ him the way they talked. They were his best, and only, friends. Some days they were the closest thing he had to a real family. They looked after him like one, that's for sure. Not a day had gone by since joining their group where he was overlooked, underfed, or left out in general. They doted on him like he was one of their own: another noble with a crucial last name, instead of just Prompto, the nobody pleb who moseyed up to them one day and, through sheer dumb luck, didn't get kicked to the curb. They formed an unbreakable bond that not even King Regis Himself could tear apart.  
  
Blame it on anxiety, blame it on low confidence, blame paranoia, but Prompto couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong. He hated thinking this way. He'd been with them long enough to know they would never drag him into something with the intent to harm or humiliate him. All he wanted was to know he got the final say.  
  
He thought of Lady Lunafreya; her soft pink letter tucked away in his bedside table at home. He thought of Pryna, his first friend: a tiny injured puppy wandering the streets defenseless, with no shelter to call her own, and how thankful Lunafreya was to have her home safe and sound. In return, all the Oracle had asked for Prompto's friendship – to reach out to the Crown Prince and be his friend. Not be Luna's friend, but Noct's. There was no demand. No royal decree on her part was saying he had to do this, or else. The door stood open; it was merely up to Prompto whether he wanted to walk through. No one held a gun to his head, and it wasn't like Lunafreya would send spies afterward to check on him. It was his choice.  
  
His choice.  
  
"Iggy… if I do this… Do you guys promise you'll help me? You aren't going to throw me to the sharks?"  
  
Noctis sat up. Something approaching hopeful dawned on his face, and he smiled brighter than the sun, edges smooth and beaming. "Does that mean you…"  
  
"As long as you'll have me," Prompto said finally, swallowing the lump in his throat. Noctis's fervor filled him with the strength he needed to finish, "I don't want you guys to go where I can't follow."  
  
A series of startling crashes filled the air as Noctis _hurled_ himself across the table, crushing sandwiches, soda cups, and condiments in his wake, into Prompto's arms. He hugged his best friend so fiercely Prompto feared he'd snap his spine in two, but it didn't matter for the moment. None of that mattered. Not the mess, not his wavering self-confidence, not even the summer heat beating down on their skin. All that mattered was Noctis, Ignis, Gladio, and the open door before him.  
  
Prompto signed his name on the x in crisp indigo ink. It was the proudest moment of his life.


	2. Two - I'll Know (But They Won't)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio gives Prompto a helping hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for making you guys wait so long for an update. I got a little overambitious with what I wanted to write and, coupled with some resurfacing health problems, it kinda bit me in the ass throughout august. HOWEVER, I'm still MASSIVELY proud of how this chapter came out. I think this is my strongest piece of writing, yet.  
> Once again, I want to thank [@MathClassWar](https://twitter.com/MathClassWar) for her continued support, proofreading, and overall patience as I sent her the exact same links over and over and over again. Another big shoutout to [@bispecsual](https://twitter.com/bispecsual) for your continued encouragement and [@et_versa](https://twitter.com/et_versa) as well for your feedback and encouragement. You guys are awesome. I will always be in your debt.  
> Credit to ao3 user [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Temperanza/pseuds/La_Temperanza) for their tutorial [How to Mimic Letters, Fliers, and Stationery Without Using Images](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11549178/chapters/25935135)  
> Finally, I don't know how I could have gotten by without Grammarly. I should have upgraded to the full version a long time ago. Seriously. This program has stopped me from making some truly embarrassing mistakes and I cannot praise it enough.  
> Without further ado, our story continues...

His apartment was small, and Prompto liked it that way. He was never the type of person who needed (much less wanted) a lot of space. Nonetheless, this was backfiring on him, as his attempts at shoving old exercise equipment out the front door were not as simple as he expected them to be. The dumbbells, broken into several pieces after years of mistreatment, were a piece of cake — he just picked them up and carried them right outside. His jump rope, yoga mats, and treadmill fit through the door frame with minimal cursing and tripping. 

Prompto previously considered selling them, but the truth is much of his equipment was outdated, clunky, broken, and took up too much damn space to warrant keeping. The payout wouldn’t be enough to continue supporting himself or buy better equipment. They were unfit for a military-soldier-to-be, especially one hand-picked by Prince Noctis, himself. He would get laughed out of Insomnia if the wrong person saw them. Better to throw them out with the trash now than suffer the humiliation later. 

His widower neighbor from the next door complex practically lit up like a holiday decoration when Prompto mentioned his ‘summer cleaning spree’ plan. The man ‘needed to keep his mind occupied’ and jumped in the air when Prompto brought up the yoga mats. _“Yeah, they were my mom’s, but she hasn’t used them in years.”_ He was more than willing to oblige if it meant somebody else wanted them; he felt terrible for the guy, and one less contraption in his way, the better. They both win. Everything else goes to the curb. 

His Stairmaster was the only equipment piece that insisted on giving him a hard time. No matter how Prompto twisted it, it stayed wedged in the door frame no matter the angle he set it on. He felt like it was mocking him. He’d give it another five minutes before breaking out his toolbox and taking the damn thing apart.

_That would have been the right idea from the getgo, genius._ The right plan for sure, as Prompto saw scratches in the paint and large dents littering the door’s surface when he bent down for a closer look.

“Fuck my life,” Prompto muttered miserably, dragging a hand down his face. He understood now why so many people his age were day drinking. Sighing, he spun on his heel and marched into the kitchen for his toolbox. Along the way, he mused over which Astral had it out for him. Probably Ramuh, since he took his name in vain regularly.

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Prompto said when he returned to the scene. He dropped the toolbox on the carpet next to the Stairmaster with a heavy clattering thud and set to work. He was grateful to be alone at a time like this, where he could focus on the task at hand instead of walking on eggshells around his mother, or listening to his father give patronizing suggestions out the side of his mouth. Working in the healthcare administration took them far from home and kept them occupied, and neither one was good with a hammer and nail, so it had to be him.

He was not looking forward to fixing the front door. A fresh coat of paint over those scratches? No problem. Whether or not he’d flatten the dents out depended on how deep they went, and he just wasn’t in the mood for a trip to the repair shop. He didn’t want to ask for help until he had no other choice. 

The Stairmaster’s left handle came off easy, putting Prompto one step closer to his goal. He’d need to remove the right one too if he hoped to push it outside without further casualties, but progress was progress. When this was over, he never wanted to see one of these abominations again. He chuckled, relishing the image in his mind’s eye: 

Prompto tromping down the steps, carrying the Stairmaster pieces in his arms like a warrior crossing the battlefield. His daydream self approached the curb, triumphant, and hurled them into the bin — a fitting end to a burden that gave him nothing but trouble. As a bonus, he didn’t need help. He did it all on his own. If he hurried, he could slam the lid down and leave the scene before anyone saw —

“Prompto? You home?” the sudden visitor startled Prompto out of his fantasy. He yelped at the intrusion and jumped to his feet, banging the top of his head against the Stairmaster handle. Stars danced across his vision, and he felt a staggering urge to lie down in the entryway. He gripped the machine to keep himself standing, his breathing coming out in patchworks instead of a unified whole. Whoever this person was, he didn’t recognize them beyond a fuzzy, broad-shouldered silhouette.

“Aw, shit, man. I’m sorry. I should have texted you before I swung by. I saw your front door was open, and I thought you were being robbed! Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.” Gladio stood on the very top step outside and peered in, face fallen in concern. The Stairmaster in the middle was the only thing separating them, and Prompto watched his eyes travel from his face down to the obnoxious deadweight that refused to leave his apartment. He wanted to fling the damn thing out onto the lawn more than ever. 

“Nah, just my pride,” Prompto replied, biting sarcasm following each word. “A little bruising never hurt.” He rubbed the spot on his head where he collided with the equipment and winced. The skin was smooth, though hot to the touch, and it pulsed angrily against the contact. He knew there’d be a lump soon.

“You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” Gladio asked. Similar to Noctis, the Prince’s bodyguard did not excel at consolation. Prompto appreciated the attempt, regardless. He so desperately needed a break, something to distract him from this nightmare even if for a moment. He shook his head, clearing away the last of his eye stars. Gladio’s features came back clearer.

“No, I’m alright. I’d invite you in, but…” Prompto waved an arm at the Stairmaster. “Can I get you a drink? I might have a soda or two left in the fridge.”

“I’m good. I came over to ask if you wanted to take a tour of the training facilities. You know, for the Crownsguard? But, uh, I can see you’re a bit tied up at the moment.”

Prompto swallowed. “Yeah, you’re not kidding. I’ll be honest. I thought I’d be done by now.”

“You want a hand?” Gladio offered. “When the cleaning lady comes around, I move my dad’s furniture so it’s not in her way.” The hair on the back of Prompto’s neck stood up straight; The last thing he wanted was to push his problems into his friend’s lap. He knelt on his knee, wrench in hand, and gripped the exercise machine like his life depended on it. He flashed Gladio one of his winning smiles, the kind he used on sweet elderly cashiers at the grocery store when he ran a few dollars short on his order. 

“Don’t worry about it, big guy. I can manage. Just let me get this handle off, and then we can hit the town.” 

Gladio frowned. “No offense, Prompto, but you don’t look so good. I hope you’ve been pacing yourself. How long did you say you were at this again?”

Prompto looked down at his hands, calloused and sore. The calluses were always there, but the ache was recent, reaching down to his bones and pulsing with heat. He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. Eleven-thirty-seven. He’d woken up at eight-thirty, washed his face, grabbed an apple off the kitchen table (not a real meal - something with protein or electrolytes to fuel him), and started working. He used the bathroom when he couldn’t hold it any longer and ran a sizable exchange to and from the garbage cans, but he was glued to the spot aside from that. 

It seemed he kept going off of sheer willpower, alone. It wasn’t the first time he prioritized personal goals over basic needs, but it’s a habit his therapist had been trying to help him break for a couple of years, with mixed success. For the most part, Prompto managed it reasonably well. Nevertheless, he was running on empty. He agreed with Gladio:

Time for a break. 

“You’re right, dude. I have been on a bit of a warpath today. Guess I overdid it,” Prompto laughed, tossing a sweaty lock of hair from his eyes.

“It’s cool. I don’t mind. This thing looks like it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I’d probably be the same way in your shoes.”

“You don’t know the half of it. You should have been here before I took the handles off, I was ready to scream.”

Gladio grinned, sharp and mischievous. “Not to sound like an ass, but I wish I had been here to see that.” 

Prompto threw an oily rag in his general direction, but his smile betrayed any hint of enmity. “I’ll set up a video camera next time, dude. Going to have to let your imagination show you how it looked this time,” he laughed. The knots in his shoulders unwound moment by moment, hands relaxing instead of wandering. His laughter came easier with each exchange; each bout was louder than the last. 

Gladio cleared his throat. He picked up his friend’s rag where it landed at his feet, crumpled and smelling faintly of furniture polish, “You know you can use the equipment at the Crownsguard facilities, right? Everything you need is there; don’t even worry about buying new sets. It’ll send a good message to the Marshall, too, that you care about your training.”

Prompto’s throat swelled shut at the mention of Cor Leonis’s title. He passed the rag between his hands, back and forth in a monotonous loop. The Immortal’s massive boot quickly stamped out the kernel of optimism growing in his brain’s undercurrents. When he opened his mouth to speak, he croaked, “Yeah… I guess I could.”

“It might be too soon to suggest it, but you could come to my house, too, if you wanted. My dad doesn’t have as wide a collection as the Crownsguard, but I make do.” Gladio sidled into the entryway (as far as his frame allowed), half-lit in shadow. He passed a free hand over the Stairmaster’s handle, still attached by one bolt, the first handle lying at Prompto’s feet. “I wanted to give you a few alternatives in case money’s tight for you right now — not that you are —”

“Actually,” Prompto interjected. His brows drew together in worry though he tried his hardest not to show it. _Don’t mess this up, Argentum_. “Can I ask you something? Let’s say hypothetically; a crownsguard recruit was low on cash? What’s the average salary? I mean, you know, if I pass?”

“ _If_?” Gladio tossed his head back in a spectacular roar of laughter. “You’re going to Altissia with us come hell or high water, Prompto. Don’t even worry about ‘passing.’ You’re pre-approved! His Royal Pain in the Ass said so! We’re not leaving without you! Besides…” Gladio clapped his hand down so hard on the Stairmaster it rattled in place like a rickety birdcage. “I know you got that sweet gig at that garage on Twelfth Avenue. You’re damn good with your hands if you don’t mind me saying. Took the first handle off like you did it a hundred times. That’s impressive. I don’t see a single scratch on this thing.”

The flood of compliments turned Prompto’s face ripe tomato-red. He swallowed and shifted on the spot, suddenly feeling too tight in his skin. “Thanks, big guy.”

“I mean it. You could make a career out of this if you stuck to it. Not to mention Cor’s always on the lookout for more engineers to tweak the combat machinery. I could put in a good word if it’s alright with you.”

In the lower pit of Prompto’s stomach, a faint light glimmered, brimming with heat and promise. His eyes ballooned out of their sockets, childlike in their excitement. “Really? Do you think I have a shot?”

“Totally,” Gladio replied, his smile taking up half his face. It was encouraging. “Skills like this don’t get wasted in the ‘guard. You’re in good hands.”

“Speaking of hands,” Prompto said, “You want to give me one so I can finally get this hunk of crap out of my apartment?”

“On one condition,” Gladio answered. He placed both hands on the Stairmaster’s body, just below the handle. Prompto didn’t like the look of the gleam in his eyes. “You take a real fuckin’ break and join me for brunch at Efrem’s diner. I’ll pay.”

The jovial atmosphere returned, soothing Prompto’s nerves like cool seawater rolling down his back, as it had mere moments earlier. He made a mental note to dip into his savings and repay Gladio for his much-needed intervention. His favorite historical fiction author was publishing the newest book in his anthology the coming weekend. If Prompto happened to hit up the bookstore and grab a copy, Gladio surely wouldn’t protest. 

“Make that four popovers slathered in the missus’ homemade jam for me, Gladio.”

“Four? That’s a big number for you. I’ll see that bet and raise you two more.”

“You’re on.” Prompto grinned. He fell into stance, hands gripping the Stairmaster’s lower end, and braced himself. “When I say ‘go,’ you’re going to tilt your side to the left - my right, and then give it a test tug. We’re going to do it together. Sound good?”

“Ready when you are, blondie,” Gladio replied.

“Okay… three… two… one… GO.”

* * *

The Argentums lived hand-to-mouth for as long as Prompto remembered. His older sister, Aranea, remained on the Niflheim border, struggling to make ends meet. The last time he heard from her was in a soggy care package that the postman couldn’t identify; the ink denoting her little brother’s address had all but washed away, smudged to Ifrit and back. Had Prompto not recognized her handwriting – Aranea’s distinctly curled p’s, and a’s, he’d be stuck inside eating stale leftovers another day. She remembered to pack his favorite meals when she could have been taking care of herself, and it made his stomach simmer with guilt. 

Inside the package, slipped beneath the canned vegetables and semi-melted candy bars, a handwritten note was hastily folded but legible. 

  
_Hey, Shortcake. Here’s this week’s haul – try not to eat it all in one day, you hear? I put a checklist of everything in there, should be behind the pasta. Look for a blue paper. You let me know if anything is missing, okay? Haven’t heard from mom or pop in a while, but that’s just like them, you know? I’m sure they’re okay, living their best lives without us. Try not to think about them too much, and wipe that sad look off your face. I’m not there, but I know you’re making it. Trust me; we’re better off. YOU’RE better off. I say let the Altissian Board of Health keep them. They aren’t sending either one of us a cut of their paychecks any time soon._

_Remember that roller derby rink I told you about? I met a cute girl there last night—name’s Iona. Could ‘a sworn I saw her somewhere before, but nothing’s coming to me. We grabbed drinks, and she took me back to her apartment. The best night I had in a long-ass time. I don’t want to jinx it, but I’d love to see her again. You’d like her; she’s into the same nerdy video game junk as you’re into, and she’s got a smile that can cure depression, I swear._

_Do me a huge favor and replace that dishwasher if you haven’t already. I think it’s beyond saving at this point. Even you can’t fix that shit. Don’t waste your time. I’ll send you what I can if you’re short on payments. Can’t you work something out at that garage? I know your boss scares the hell out of you, but you have to stand up for yourself sooner or later. Those Lucians can smell fear, and they’ll use it against you. Remind them who you are._

_I miss you, kiddo. I miss you like hell. I’ll try and be home by the winter solstice. I know it’s months away, but you deserve an honest estimate. Don’t you dare put up decorations until I walk through that door. I’m serious._

_Write me back as soon as you can. I’m sorry I didn’t get my cell phone fixed yet. I’m working on it._

_Keep your wrist covered._

_~Aranea_

Try as he might, Aranea’s letter clung to Prompto’s thoughts no matter his efforts at keeping it out. Two weeks passed since her package arrived, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to write back that wasn’t a lie. On the one hand, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. On the other, he’d spend the rest of the month screaming at himself for duping the last remaining relative who hadn’t abandoned him. Aranea deserved better than that. She’d always been good to him no matter how much they fought, no matter how much their parents used them for argument fuel. 

Did withholding information count as lying? He didn’t have to tell his sister he got fired, necessarily. He didn’t have to reveal to her that taking the dishwasher apart set him back three paychecks. He can just… not say anything.

_I’ll know,_ Prompto thought as he pushed the popovers on his plate around with his fork. _I’ll know, and it’ll come back to bite me in the ass sooner or later._

Gladio’s hand appeared on the edges of his vision, gesturing at his friend’s helping with a hungry hand. “Hey, pal. You okay? Come on, don’t tell me you’re still hung up over that stupid Stairmaster. You better get some real food in your gut, or I’m taking it.”

Prompto ducked his head, and a breathy chuckle escaped his lips. He shoved a popover in his mouth, chewing boastfully despite the smoldering pain at the nape of his neck screaming at him to confess. “Nah, bud. I’m fine.” 

_I’ll know, but that doesn’t mean they have to._  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💙(☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜)💙


End file.
